Meatloaf
by damn expensive eggs
Summary: I worry about the kid. I do. When someone falls unconscious at your feet that many times, you kinda start wantin' to baby 'em. Ravio/Link, Ravio's POV.


I worry about the kid. I do. I do. I mean, I don't wanna patronize 'im or anything. We're around the same age, but when someone falls unconscious at your feet that many times, you kinda start wantin' to baby 'em. Wash his clothes, cook him dinner, tell him he's got schmutz on his face. It's a gross feeling for a little fellow like me. I'm too young and beautiful to be a parent. But here I am, playin' first aid with the baby.

"You got done in pretty hard, huh?" I say.

He nods. "Mm."

"Open your mouth. Lemme see your teeth."

He shakes his head. "Mm!" He covers his mouth. He's even got bruises on his knuckles. Sweet precious child. I bet someone threw his sword aside and he just went at 'em with his fists. Like a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em robot.

"I can't help you if you don't show me what's wrong. Come on. Open up. "

He looks down, removing his hand from his lips, in the most ashamed way - "guilty puppy" would do the trick. He smiles. His teeth are practically _dyed_ red, like he got socked in the face with a big ol' jug of Kool - Aid. They're black in the corners. It breaks my heart. Just slices it right in half like a soft, bloody block of cheese.

"Aw. Babe." I put my finger in the corner to see the backs, and he flinches, but lets me proceed. "You missing any?"

"I don'f fink tho."

"Sounds like you do. Go on. Spit." I hold out my palm. He does as I say, and it's gross, but I let it happen. It's just blood and saliva and - oh, we got one.

"Aw, man. How long was that in there? Is that a baby tooth? Do you even have baby teeth left? I'll tell you something, it took awhile for all my teeth to fall out. I mean, I wasn't in any rush, because how else was I gonna eat those crunchy apples, right? Where'd this tooth come from? Was it an important spot? It's like a medium tooth. Maybe you didn't need it that badly."

"You talk a lot," Link says, blood drooling.

"Yeah? I gotta fill the empty spaces where you don't talk, buddy. It'd be quiet 'round here without me, wouldn't it. Speaking of empty spaces, where'd the tooth come from? Open your mouth wider."

He does. It's kinda hard to make stuff out in that void of red. But I see the spot.

"Oh, yeah. That's - that's one of 'em... incisor thingies. I think they're important. But you know what? It's alright. It's cool. Are you cool?"

"Not really."

"You know what?" I say, dipping my hand in the bucket of water I had lying around, because the well is a long ways from here and I'm too lazy to go there more than once a day, "Let's get you cleaned up, and we can have some ice cream. How does that sound?"

"I just lost a tooth and you're gonna feed me ice cream?" he's like.

"I'm not gonna _feed _you ice cream, what am I, your mom?" Yeah. "But I suppose you do have a point."

"Yeah." He wipes his mouth on his sleeve, but I'm like, "No, no, no, no! Those stains will never come out! Lemme just - ! Lemme just!"

"You don't need to help me. It's fine." And then he _continues_ to wipe blood on his nice sleeve.

"Why are you so stubborn, buddy? Just lemme clean up your face. I mean, I got a cloth right here. Nice and ratty and ready for blood. Come on. Someone tailored those clothes up nice for you and you're just disrespectin' them. Gimme your face."

So he does, and the cloth I'm holding is not ready to handle the amount of blood on his face. I mean, I bet it's not that much, really, because he hasn't told me whether or not he feels light - headed. It's just more than I've seen in one place, is all.

"You feel light-headed?" I'm askin'.

He moves his head in a way that is not discernibly yes or no.

"What's that mean?"

"Mm. Yeah. I guess. I wasn't really sure what light-headed feels like, but now that you mention it..."

I widen my eyes a bit, behind my bunny hood, which I love so very much. "You do? Well, buddy, why didn't you tell me?"

"Dunno."

"Heck. Maybe. Maybe we should get you to a doctor?"

"No. No," he's like. "I, I hate doctors. I can't deal with that sort of, uhh, experimental, maybe-this-will-work-maybe-not stuff. Kinda freaks me out."

"I don't think preventing blood loss is a very, uh, unpracticed field?" I'm like.

"Sure it is. Sometimes they bleed people out 'cause they're like, oh, this will get all the poison out of your system. And then that person, like, dies." He's looking down as he says all this. I really don't think this is a valid argument that he would make against doctors. It doesn't make any sense, if I'm honest with you. Sheerow isn't even buying it.

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would they bleed you out when you've already lost a ton of blood?"

"Well, you - you don't have to stand there just, like, talking about it..."

I snap back. "Right, right, right. I'm sorry. Where else are you bleeding from?"

He gestures to his face. "Just like. This general area."

I lean in close to his face, which is really kinda pasty compared to mine, but that might just be the saturation of his rainbow bruises makin' it _look _pale. But nah, he's really white. It's just that the purity of his skin has been kinda tainted from all the fighting and whatnot.

Well. Kinda glad it's not me out there.

"It's not bleeding as much as you think. You're fine, buddy. You're fine." I wanna stroke his face but Sheerow nudges and chirps, lettin' me know that that's not such a grand idea.

"I don't feel fine," Link's like.

"Yeah. But you look it."

"Do I?" he's like. "Do I look fine?"

I lift my hood a little to take a good look at him. "Aside from all the bruises and cuts and the missin' tooth? I'd say you look like a million rupees."

"Thanks, man." He sniffles. "Thanks."

"You okay, bud? You sick? You - oh, you're crying. Why are you crying?"

And then - here's the good part - he grabs my robe and pulls me close, and buries his disgusting, snotty, beat - up face into the fabric. I was gonna tell him not to stain the thing, but that's been a lost cause since the beginning. He's sobbing. Weeping, weeping so hard that he'd embarrass a weeping willow. I don't know what to do, really, but Sheerow makes a motion with his wing to stroke the back of Link's head. So I tear off the hat (whose purpose I know not) and stroke his hair, which is so awfully golden that it's annoying.

"I don't wanna go back out there," he says. "It's too much. I'm a coward." No. I am. "I - I can't look a monster in the face without wanting to cry."

"Well, they are pretty ugly."

"What do they _want_ with me? Who _built _these elaborate things just to get in my way? Why can't I just the paintings off a guy or something?"

"Well, they're just trying to protect what they _think_ is valuable."

"Of course they're valuable! There are human lives at stake! Why are they at _my _stake? What's so goddamn special about me, I - I can't even wake up in the morning. That comes easy for so many people. But I just can't. Now - now they want me to go to - some _uglier _version of my home, and - save _seven people_?"

Kid makes a lot of sense, but I can't let him lose _all _his cool. "Hey." I continue with the stroking. "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna do it."

"And it doesn't help that you call me Mr. Hero all the time! Like, what is that? Am I supposed to be flattered or am I supposed to puke from the pressure of living up to that ridiculous name?"

"I don't have to call you that anymore," I say. "I could call you... uh. By your name?"

"I don't even like my name."

"What would you like to be called."

"I don't know. Meatloaf."

"Alright, Meatloaf," I say bringing him eye - level with me. "Can you go out there and be the bravest meatloaf that ever was?"

"No." He sniffs again.

"What if I got you some of that ice cream, then would you go out?"

"Ice cream would hurt my mouth."

"Oh, that's right." I look around the room for a suggestion. Sheerow hovers over the bed.

"How about a nap? Do you want a nap?"

He wipes his face with his sleeve and I don't stop him. "Yeah."

"Okay. Climb right in there."

So he does, and I sit at the edge of the bed. I twiddle my thumbs. "Want me... to tell you a story?"

"Are you being sarcastic?" he asks.

"No. I'm serious. I'll tell you a story. Listen up. I got this just for you." I snuggle up in my scarf. He turns to face the wall. "You listening to me? What, the blanket tastes really good or something?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "I'm listening."

"Okay. Okay. You ready? Here we go. Once upon a time, there was a kid named, uh, Bink. And Bink was just a kid. Just a normal ol' kid with like, nice skin and nice hair, you know? Then everyone was like, hey, Bink, you know what would be cool? If you just, like, got out of bed one day and everyone told you to save the world and you won't even like, do anything about it, you'll just do it because you're selfless and heroic and so much stronger than you think you are. And Bink's like, man, what the hell? I just wanted to throw around some Cuccos. But nah. He goes at it. He's like, got his sword, and his little shield that he bought from the shop, and he's like, yeeeeah! Monsters don't got nothin' on me, I'm Biiiink. I'm coooool. Look at me go, I'm so strong and handsome and good to everyone that I meet. I even let some weird bunny dude stay in my house indefinitely. How cool is that? Huh?"

I looked over to the guy, all unconscious and puffy-cheeked, like a little cherub. Dude was fast asleep.

"Well, alright, Meatloaf," I say. "We'll pick up the story tomorrow."


End file.
